


Bunny's Courage

by clearinghouse



Series: Ham Common [4]
Category: Raffles - E. W. Hornung
Genre: Bottom Bunny, Bunny is Assertive, Christmas, Established Relationship, First Time, Fluff, Ham Common (Raffles), Illness, M/M, Mentions of Jane Eyre, Raffles POV, Romance, Sexual Content, Top Raffles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 13:31:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12277509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clearinghouse/pseuds/clearinghouse
Summary: Raffles nurses Bunny through an unfortunate illness. Afterwards, Bunny finally finds his courage, and the two have intercourse for the first time.





	1. The Fever's Worst

To properly describe the story of the first time Bunny and I truly knocked knees, I feel that I have to start, regrettably, by describing a scene of the fever that victimised Bunny a few weeks before. That abhorrent illness would, ironically, set into motion the splendid events that later followed.

We were in his bedroom. “Have courage,” I was whispering, in the lowest of tones of which my deep voice is capable, to my slumbering friend, who couldn’t possibly have heard me, unless it were through the haze of a dream. “You’ve pulled through worse before. You will pull through this all right.”

At that moment, I heard the door of our humble house unlocked, opened, and closed by the one possible intruder in the world whose presence was not disdained. The distinctly prancing footsteps that reached my ears indicated that our landlady had come. The squeaking of a set of tiny wheels betrayed that she was pushing a cart before her. 

It was rude of me, but I did not think to leave the room where I was to reveal myself and to greet her. I was too intent on staying near Bunny.

From another room, I heard her say to herself, with an overwrought worry, “Why, bless my soul, they’ve been in that bedroom all day, the both of them. How many days does that make it?” The slight footsteps of the slight lady renewed, as did the resonating of the cart’s wheels. The noises grew steadily and slowly louder. I failed to act, until there was the gentlest of raps at the door.

“I will be back shortly,” I said to Bunny, pointlessly. 

Bunny made no reply. He could not have. He was asleep.

I rose from the chair that was situated at his beside. It was no joy to me to leave him, regardless of whether or not he would take notice of my absence. I walked on my toes to the door, and in one swift movement placed myself exactly on the other side of it, shutting it behind me as I did so. “Mrs Fisher,” I greeted at last to the woman in front of me, while my hand twitched anxiously on the knob behind me.

Being officially dead, I have grown accustomed to spending long periods wherein my only partner for space and conversation is Bunny, save for the spare word I share with the occasional tradesman or to this agreeable woman. From the fact of this relative isolation from most other people, one might assume that I ought to be greatly out of form, as far as my conversational ability is concerned. However, I wasn’t. My talent to charm and to put at ease never left me. 

Therefore, if I was about to be sparse with Mrs Fisher, it was not a consequence of my general character, or of any displeasure at seeing this dear lady, but of the distinctly miserable circumstances of a bad situation. To put in a few words, I wasn’t in a good mood. I was losing my head over Bunny’s health.

“Mr Ralph!” She was eager to speak to me, though she spoke unnaturally softly, as I had done for my friend who laid in the room behind me. There sparkled in this lady a hundred unasked questions, which were all really permutations of a single question. 

This ultimate one, I instantly answered for her. “He’s stable,” I said.

She sighed aloud. “Then, he’s not growing worse?”

“That’s right.”

“The fever’s finally broken, is it?”

That, I didn’t know. “Why, just about,” I fudged.

The creases of Mrs Fisher’s concerned face relaxed. She took a moment to breathe a praise to Providence. “That’s a right good sign,” she assured me. Maternally, she patted the shoulder’s end of my unchanged waistcoat. “That means the worst of it will be over soon. He’ll be getting better quick as anything, once the fever breaks. That’s how these things always go. There’s nothing to fear for him, now.”

She had my sympathy. For the first time since her entrance into the home, I genuinely turned my thoughts away from Bunny so that I might reassure her. I gave her comforting words, words that did not come from my guilt-ridden heart of hearts, but from the part of me that was a kindhearted liar. “To be sure,” I said. I even smiled enough for her to appreciate the lie.

Yet directly, her worried creases deepened again. As it was often the case, when one worry in our landlady’s heart was dropped, it only made room for another. “Is the poor dear awake?” she asked. “He must be terribly famished by now, even if he doesn’t know it. I’ll be glad to feed him, if he won’t mind my—”

“No, he just now fell asleep.” It was another lie, spoken to keep her away. Dear though she was, our landlady was not the one who belonged at my companion’s side. That was how I felt, at any rate. “I will help him to eat once he wakes again.”

“I’m glad to know it.” Mrs Fisher pointedly passed the food tray’s cart my way, trusting me to handle the job. “It’s very good of you, you know.”

I saw that there were two bowls of soup on the tray, besides the bread.

“He’s fortunate to have such a keeper as you,” she said. “You’re a marvellously devoted brother to him, you are, Mr Ralph. Why, you’ve not been away from him ever since the start of it.” She glanced over me, taking in my worn, tired clothes. From my sustained lack of sleep and inattention to eating, my own features must have been in as poor a shape as my kit. “You ought to have a bite of something, too, dear.”

To lie boldly, for the sake of sparing trouble, was, to me, a cold second nature. “I will make certain that I do.” 

“Tell him he’s in my prayers, when he wakes. Let him know I’m thinking of him.”

“Of course, certainly.”

“And tell him that I’m at his service, day or night, if he’s ever wanting anything.”

Unseen in the shadow I cast behind me, the fingers of mine which were not on the handle of the cart impatiently grasped the door’s knob. “Mrs Fisher, please do forgive me, but I should like to go inside again, if you wouldn’t mind?” Every second away from him was ponderously heavy on my shoulders.

“Oh, yes, yes,” she fanned her fingers at me, “you go on. No need for apologizing. I quite understand. You keep the tray for the present, Mr Ralph. I won’t be detaining you any longer.”

I extended my sincerest thanks to her, and she started hurrying herself away, murmuring somethings to herself about how sad it was that such worthy devotions between family relations were dwindling away with the rise of modern times.

I did not bother to wait to watch her leave. I quickly opened the door, pulled in the cart after me, and shut the door. “It’s only me, old friend,” I whispered, just in case.

It is not easy to remember him as he was in those dreadful hours, weak and unmoving in that bed. All but his head was buried underneath the combined might of half the blankets that we owned. His sweet, ever-innocent face shined unnaturally, like glass. His lips were parted for his semi-laboured breathing. His eyes were not open—until they suddenly were, though barely. The distant gaze, brighter even than it normally was, fell on me. “Raffles?”

Raffles, did he say? I paused. That wasn’t the name that suited his nurse. Raffles was my work name, reserved for Bunny’s partner in crime. I had to wonder why he would call me by that name now, so far removed we were in our home from our work and from society at large. “Yes, it’s A. J.,” I corrected gently, resuming my return to the chair by the bed. “Mrs Fisher has brought you food again. Are you equal to a little breakfast?”

“Breakfast?” he repeated dazedly. His head swung on its weakened hinge, as lazily as the gate of an old manor house swings, so that he could better observe the strands of light that leaked in from around the drawn curtain of the window. “It’s been a day,” he remarked. 

To be strictly accurate, that was only counting the last time he’d woken, and in that aim, it missed one night by its measure. It had been two days, if he meant to count the time since the breakout of this wretched fever; three days, if he meant to start at the exposure to the cold that was the ultimate cause of his fever; but I would have counted four, because four days ago marked the evil instant that I had decided upon a doomed escapade, and he had agreed to join me. It wasn’t clear to me if he was aware of how much time had passed since that moment. It wasn’t an important distinction presently, however. What was of importance was that he was awake, and frowning at me.

“You haven’t slept?” he rasped through his sore throat.

“Never mind about me,” I answered, leaning forward so that I might keep my voice low. “How’s the stomach, now? Fit for a useful meal? If it is, then this is the hour for it. The food’s just come, hot and fresh. It will be good for you, if you can take it.”

He did me the kindness of considering the food. The idea of a meal did not seem to appeal to him very much, yet I could see how he weighed the discomfort of whatever nausea was cursing him against the certain benefits of sustenance. “All right,” he said at last, after a prolonged delay.

Great gladness and relief shot up through me like a startling rush of vertigo. I had not expected him to accede to food again, so soon after his last bout of vomiting. That he had acceded delighted me to absurdity. To think that my ill Bunny had grown well enough to make another stab at eating! The honest smile that came to my lips must have showed him how thoroughly pleased I was. “But have you the strength for it?” I asked, near-grinning all the while. Goodness knows why I asked him this. The reassurance of another affirmative, perhaps, was what I wanted to hear.

He matched my pleased smile with a small but beautiful simper of his own. “Yes, I think I can manage.” His body made some effort to curl into an upright position. The pile of blankets on him proved too heavy for him to lift with ease. He seemed to be pushing his body against a sheet of iron.

I quickly helped him. The blankets, I pulled swiftly back; his delicate frame, I pulled back also, and rested him against the headboard. I removed the wet cloth from his forehead and set it aside. The cloth was warm, and the skin underneath his combinations was pointedly hot, though not alarmingly so. 

He said quietly, “Thank you.”

This gratitude embarrassed me. “Think nothing of it,” I said. “But you can thank Mrs Fisher for the cooking, when you see her next, after it improves you.”

However, before I could go to fetch the tray, one of his languid hands rose and fell to land on top of mine. “Thank you, A. J., for everything.”

The sombre, final note of his thanks seized me by the heart. Even though my ears understood that he was thanking me for my devotion to him as his substitute doctor and attendant, my smitten brain attached itself irrationally to a fatalistic interpretation of his words. I shook it off. I grasped his hand, and his other hand as well. Then I put the both of them together, and squeezed. “Think nothing of it,” I insisted. “It’s no more than what you’d do in my place.”

He couldn’t have known everything that I had done, while he was out of it. Possibly he didn’t remember how I had held his hand while he had slept, warming a shivering palm that was already too warmed by fever. Certainly he must have been asleep most of the time that I had kept vigil over him. I didn’t know if my presence had made any material difference to him, while he had drifted between states of unconsciousness and confusion. 

Now that he was awakened, though, he seemed to greatly appreciate my attention. I was very glad of it, but my attention alone still wasn’t enough to give him. I wished that I could do more. I owed him more.

I set the tray with the two bowls and bread on his lap. This much, at least, I could do, and that was a welcome change. Despite all my arts and talents, Bunny’s onset illness had reduced me to an agonizing powerlessness that I was not familiar with.

Bunny blinked drowsily, until his eyes were able to open more fully. He pointed his nose at the bowl farthest from him, and closer to me. “Is that for you?”

“No, all of this is yours,” I replied, falsely. “However much of it you can take, old chap. You need it.”

“Did you eat already, then?” 

Inwardly, I marvelled at him. Bunny was the one in need of care, and yet he bothered to think of my comfort. Even so, my misery over his condition had genuinely sapped me of hunger. “No, not yet. I’ll have time for that later. You go on.”

“You can have that bowl, AJ,” he said, so kindly that it ripped my chest in two. There was too much compassion in him. “I can’t eat this much.”

“We’ll see! Eat what you can,” I implored, “and I’ll have what you don’t finish afterwards.”

But my partner knew me too well. He snorted softly, and resisted me. “I don’t think I believe you will.”

Again, I was amazed. Evidently, there was more strength left in him than I had reckoned. 

“If you won’t eat,” he declared, “then I won’t eat!”

I grimaced. I had lost; he had won. There was nothing to be done, but to give in to his demands. 

Bunny ate tremendously slowly and quietly, though through it all he never gave up. My pace, on the other hand, was quicker, yet marked by frequent interruptions; for, having spent so long in silence at Bunny’s side, I was given to talking to him a great deal, making for a very verbose one-sided conversation. 

I wanted to talk about him about how he was feeling, or if he had dreamed. He was undoubtedly in a vulnerable place of mind, and deserving of my reassurances and my support. Yet the words of devotion I longed to give were choked off; a thick mass of guilt choked them off in my throat. Instead, I spoke of absurdly banal and important trivialities, such as my plans for the approaching holidays. 

(Though we entertained no guests for the sake of that special period of the year, and never submitted to the entertainment provided by any other house, we always found ways to enjoy the holidays by ourselves. I even secured an ornamented birch tree for us each year. That is to say, I legitimately purchased one of those that has a perfect shape, whereas the ornaments were donated by third parties. Each year, I brought the plant inside and up the stairs, with Bunny’s assistance, to settle in our living room for a couple of months. 

A waste, it would seem, to any outsider, for us to invest any amount of time in making yuletide arrangements, since no one save us and our landlady would have the opportunity to be impressed by them. But there was a pleasant familiarity in the old tradition. Moreover, I could tell that there was something important in the tradition for my best friend. He had sacrificed enough for my benefit without having to give up the holiday spirit as well. Therefore, everything was always made to be as correct as if we were still living as ordinarily as any gentlemen-about-town celebrating the end of the year: the tree, the gifts, the food, et cetera. The one difference of significance was that the two of us happily celebrated the holiday alone.)

In any event, my designs on the upcoming Christmas were precisely the nonsense that I prattled on about to Bunny, rather than loading him with blether about how I was worried sick about him. I mentioned how I had already taken a spin around a tree yard, and how I had passed up on each one, and in my narrative there were was an excess of details of the defects of each rejected tree. 

He allowed me to ramble. Being less particular about the perfection of our tree than I was, he suffered my misplaced enthusiasm with a gentle tolerance. Even though his movement was slow and his too-bright eyes were half a league away from me, there was an occasional flicker of his gaze or a twitch of his cheek in reply to what I told him.

Not more than five minutes in, I was convinced that his faculties were so asleep that he was missing nine out every ten words I said. Without a doubt, he would remember very little or none of this later.

But that was all right. Christmas trees were not of great importance. All that mattered was that my companionship was any comfort to him, if, in fact, it was.

Once our meals were as finished as they were ever going to be, Bunny sat up with me for a small while longer. The trays and the cart were moved to be alone in the other room, a room with several bookshelves, one of which had been recently deprived of one book, which was now in my hands. It was an old romance, one of those flowery novels that the peers in my form had mocked at school. Myself, I suppose I didn’t care for them especially, but I knew someone who did. That was very much the reason why I had chosen to read for my audience the seminal flowery novel _Jane Eyre_. It was a treat for him.

I doubt if I’m anything special, when it comes to reading a piece aloud. What with compulsory recitations as a child and, as an adult, free time that wants passing, it must be the case that everyone has some experience in working the cadence, pitch, and balance of one’s voice. There can’t be a literate fellow in all the empire who doesn’t gain some skill in it eventually. 

Nonetheless, Bunny greatly enjoyed my effort. He was not watching me with eyes wide open, but it was clear from his smiles and frowns that he was swept up in the story. For him, I endowed every spoken line with all the correct spirit. I would never have given my school peers such a golden chance to laugh at me, but Bunny was different. After all the time we’d passed together, I had learned to never fear that I was making myself an object for ridicule, when it was only the two of us in a room.

“Oh, Jane! My hope—my love—my life!” I cried harshly, as my character’s beloved tried to leave him. For all his strength, there was nothing my character could do to compel such a good soul to remain his companion forever. My brain fastened itself to the idea. The blood in my veins shook in broken disorder. My beloved had made me the happiest of men; we had years of sweet partnership ahead of us; he could not dare to leave me now. I felt my powerlessness over Bunny’s illness—and the fear that I would lose my kind and gentle friend.

Then the blistering fire of unrequited love in my blood cooled into thick, despairing ice. A guilty sympathy, one that could not be made useful, chilled me to the bone. “God bless you, my dear master,” I whispered. I shamelessly shrilled my pitch, softened my tone, and even laid my hand daintily to my chest. “God keep you from harm and wrong—,” and all that rot, wishing all that was good for my character’s beloved, knowing that he would live a better life, though a lonelier one also, if it was a life lived without my character. But I related less to her. I could not think as ideally as she did. Goodness be damned, I would violate all the laws of heaven and earth if that was what it took to hold onto Bunny.

There was a final struggle of wills between the gentleman and the lady, and then the scene ended on the lady’s hasty departure. I inhaled deeply, rewarding my lungs for their work. “That’s the chapter’s end,” I said on the exhale.

“That was great,” Bunny murmured, appreciatively. Unfortunately, he sounded as ill as ever.

“Water?”

“Yes, please.”

Without another thought I grabbed the glass of water that was as permanent a fixture as I was in this sickroom. I held up his head, and brought the water to his lips. Every heavy gulp of his was exaggerated. It was a profound sort of feeling, to play domestic nurse to him like this. When he would drink no more, I guided him again to repose. “It wasn’t a bad yarn, I suppose,” I said casually, in reply to his approving comment. “I rather thought the man was getting to be a brute near the end of it. Of course, I’m the last person to blame a chap for fighting for what he wants, but, a gentleman ought to know that when a lady says no—”

“I didn’t mean the story was great, A. J.; I meant that you were great.”

His flattery warmed me thoroughly. “That is very kind of you,” I said. “But you also fancied the story itself, surely?”

“You already know that I do.” 

I smiled. That was instant defeat. He was correct, since I had myself seen the novel in his hands during our boyhood years. I only shrugged in response. The subject of his likes and dislikes was always agreeable to me, and I didn’t mind hearing him repeat his sentiments. 

“But I’d never heard it told aloud by someone,” he added, “especially—especially not you. It’s—well, it’s awfully nice.”

I understood what he meant to say, and I agreed with verve. “Why, it’s almost like it’s just us on a little adventure of another kind, eh, when one of us reads something or other aloud to the other?” I remarked. “Except it’s an adventure in the mind, not on the road.” It was an overly poetic sentiment for a man of my stamp, but with every day that passed in Ham Common, the character of my sentiments stole just a little bit more from Bunny’s.

“Yes, just us,” Bunny hummed in accord. He closed his eyes fully, for want of sleep.

There was a sharp pang in my pulse at the sight. I cleared my suddenly full throat. “Not to mention,” I digressed, “there’s the extra fun that goes into acting out each character. It’s all easy going for the listener, but not for the reader! I’ve been getting all the challenge of the reading to myself, of course, but you’ll make it up for it when you’re well again, won’t you?”

He didn’t answer immediately. It was a near thing that he hadn’t already fallen asleep to the sound of my voice. I was prepared to let him lie still and to say nothing more, until abruptly he spoke again. “It’s funny.”

“What’s funny?”

“I never would have imagined,” he stopped, and seemed to regret having started, but regardless went on to finish, “you, reading a novel like that aloud to me.”

I sat up straighter. “Not my typical choice of reading, you mean?”

He wasn’t sure enough of himself to give me an answer. 

“Come now, you may be right,” I said. “It’s not exactly a book one would find in any bookcase in the old Albany. I’m sure my reading of it would have made for an amusing anecdote to share with strangers over drink and cigarettes. But what’s wrong with the book, after all? I can’t call it a bad piece of fiction, and I made it work very well, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” he said, with a hint of a pleasant laugh. “I liked your Jane—and your Rochester. They sounded so—so different. The way your Jane spoke of rightness and goodness—” Bunny laughed again. Evidently he was on the side of nervous, and leaving some things unsaid. “You understand? It is a little unexpected.”

His timid laughs were like sweet music. I leaned forward and teased him, “Unexpected? Is that because I’m a devil, who knows nothing of goodness,” I murmured slyly, “and you, a devil-worshipper?”

“I am not that,” he retorted, “and you are not that. That’s pushing it too far. You’re a—a sportsman.”

I huffed good-naturedly. “One day, old rabbit, you’ll come to your senses.” This was a long-standing, amiable disagreement between us, one that never went anywhere. I fondly caressed his hair. “As you like,” I said. “However, why did you say you never would have imagined me reading this novel to you? We read together all the time. This innocent book cannot be so different from every other thing we’ve skimmed through, and it’s not as if there are others listening in.”

“No, it is different from the rest.” Bunny’s speech, though resolute, grew slower and slower. “It’s a silly book, I know—but you don’t act as though it were silly. You took the roles seriously, didn’t you? As the man, you really didn’t want to let the woman go—and then as the other, you really didn’t want to bring ruin to the man—and, I think there’s a piece of A. J. in those voices of yours, a piece that only I’ll ever hear,” he whispered. “I never could have believed that you would ever read me a love story. You chose it for my sake, I know you did. I,” a pause, “I suppose I never could have imagined that any of this life of ours would happen.”

Bunny has a knack for baffling me sometimes. In spite of the bad fever, and in spite of our criminal situation, Bunny was still grateful to be here, with me. He had just said as much. My putting on a miniature theatre specially for him was, apparently, a thing he cherished even more than being well.

It amazed me that he didn’t once blame me for his sorry state. He wasn’t at all angry that his cold—and then his fever—was my own fault. He had forgotten all about the burglary that had been found out in the middle of it, and our run to escape on the boat i’d arranged beforehand, and being pushed into the water by some fool hiding on the pier, who I knocked in before rescuing Bunny. (The night’s boodle hadn’t been anything to speak of to begin with, either; my guilty conscience would not cease reminding me that it was only to sate my own boredom that we’d gone on this adventure at all.) Instead of being angry with me, Bunny was pleased with me, because I had had the kindness to read off some mildly embarrassing lines from a book he liked. 

“Want any more to drink?” I asked. 

“No, thank you.”

“Then you ought go to sleep now, Bunny. You’re halfway to it, already.”

He sighed deeply. “All right.”

That was a good reply. I was ready to sit by him again, for as long as I was reasonably able, or longer. “Sweet dreams.”

Concealed under his covers and sweating all over, Bunny was calm and quiet. Though his body was in a ruined condition, he remained strong in mind. He seemed to be almost focusing, rather than trying to fall asleep. Perhaps he was trying to convince himself to get better.

“Rest, now,” I said to him. I bowed my head and kissed his cheek. “I love you.”

His head turned on its pillow in my direction, as a plant grows towards the sun. “I love you, too,” he rasped.

A dark, wild anger abruptly took me for its own. He had hardly said anything, and yet it was too much. Who had my kind, loyal Bunny ever harmed, to deserve a fever like this? There was a spike of violence in my heart, a pathetic yearning to riot against fate’s random cruelty. This innocent-faced soul, whose pretty temperament gave him over to the sincere enjoyment of simple things like _Jane Eyre_ , was no one’s enemy. And there were still so many ways that I had yet to give him complete happiness. 

I was silent and motionless for some unknown length of time. Then, I erupted.

“Get well soon, won’t you?” I whispered hoarsely. “I’m not through with you yet, my dear Bunny. I haven’t given you enough to repay you for all the sacrifices you’ve made for me. You won’t leave me in debt, will you? I still have more years to give you. I haven’t read all your favourite books to you yet. I haven’t—I haven’t taken you to bed yet, not in the way you’ve sometimes spoken of. You know why I haven’t done it, don’t you? It’s nothing I haven’t told you before: I’m a frightful novice at this kind of love. I’ve been waiting for you to take the lead, and to show me how it’s done right. But you haven’t taken me that far yet, though I’ve tried to encourage you. Why not?

“You must know that any skill that can be learned by one man is easily learned by another. It wouldn’t take me too long to find a way to read up on the ways of Greek love, and then to seduce you. But I won’t. Do you know why? It’s not because I’m not interested; I am greatly interested. It’s not because you know your own desires better than I do; I could guess them, if I tried. No, the true reason is simpler, though you wouldn’t believe it: I want you to have this opportunity to show me your mettle.

“Ours is a partnership between two equals, Bunny, but you haven’t had enough chances to take the lead, have you? I wanted you to have your chance to shine—like the time you saved me from that horde of boys who had me held by my hand through a door. Do you remember that? I told you then that it was your apotheosis—a show of you at your best! Our victory that day was all thanks to you! But that was for only one night. You still hold yourself inferior to me, don’t you, deep down? Well, finally, we’ve come to a realm where you are the natural expert, and I am not. Now’s your chance to see your worth. That’s why I’m waiting for you. That’s the reason why I’m following your lead. You were doing so well, too, leading me, until this. Why haven’t you found the courage to bring us to the end? Are you afraid that I’ll be appalled by what you bring me to?

“I can promise you that I won’t be. Only say the word, and I’ll prove my devotion to you. I’ll be happily at your disposal. You’ll see what a shameless chap your tender emotions turn me into. I’ll speak endless affection into your ear, cover you from hand to foot with my body, and give you all that you ask for, and do exactly as you bid me do. My hands and my hips will be your servants; I will use them to show you how precious you are to me. Isn’t that what you’ve wanted most, Bunny, for all the years that you loved me in secret? For me to make love to you in the way that a man does to another man—though, I confess, that I am too new to this game to know what that amounts to? 

“Well, we’re almost to it. Just a few more runs, and you’ll have me right where you want me. All you have to do is to work up your courage, and take the lead—but before you can do that, you have to get better, do you understand? And you don’t have anything to fear. You will pull through this. I’ll stay here to see that you do—so hurry up, Bunny, and pull through!”

My distressed brain had exhausted itself to the limit. 

He remained fast asleep. 

I plucked his sweating hand from the sheets, and held it securely between two palms. Even though there was nothing more to be done here, I wasn’t ready to part from him. Would that I could follow him into the dreamworld, and keep him company there. I stroked above where his hair met the rag on his forehead, and stayed put.


	2. Christmas Day's Best

But fear not! Our landlady’s optimism rang true in the end. Bunny recovered without complication. Very quickly, it became clear that Bunny would eventually be no worse off for the pains he had overcome, though he was out of commission for a little while. It was, coincidentally, the holiday season, but he alone was in for a particularly lengthy holiday.

My own regular state of mind returned to me. The temporary bout of insanity was over. Ignoring the facts that I wouldn’t let him touch his bicycle for weeks, and that I barely suffered him to go outside while he was not at full strength, I was too relieved to be anxious any longer for the prospects of his health. The sense of guilt that had eaten away at me began to dissipate. As terrible as it is to admit it, I found myself already circling new houses on my map of greater London and spinning fresh schemes for us to embark on in the future—though I did so with much less arrogance than before.

Bunny was soon writing again. I, too, was soon painting again, in the small greeting room that I ruined by repurposing into my studio, but I have already written about the story of my aesthetic hobby elsewhere. For the early holiday season, we largely confined ourselves to the house, and were seldom out of our dressing gowns. 

Because of this, one might guess that Bunny and I spent the early season wasting a great deal of time in his bedroom, and one would be correct, but only by accident. I spent that time reading more books at his bedside, or talking to him about nothing. Sometimes, when he asked for it, I laid with him and held him in my arms against my chest, giving him gentle kisses on the forehead or relishing the warmth of his hands in mine. 

By the way, it may seem that this sort of tenderness to rival that of a doting mother is sickeningly absurd and excessive in a gentleman. If so, it’s worth making this clear: I don’t care in the least. I am absolutely certain that my tenderness wasn’t more than what my sweet Bunny was glad to have from me. He was happiest when my voice was in his ears, or my fingers were in his air, or my outrageous plans were whirring in his head. 

With respect to our nighttime activities, the lengthy fever had a long-term affect on my partner’s interest. To put it plainly, he lost his interest. Rather, his desires weren’t eliminated entirely, I should say, but they were diminished enough that I began to learn what it felt like to force one’s desires to quietly wait and simmer.

It was a curious agony, to have to keep myself from him, in the risqué sense of phrase. I had to learn how to refrain from whispering to my weakened Bunny how much I longed to satisfy his fantasies. With a few quick exceptions, I could do nothing but anticipate the hour when Bunny was fully recovered.

Perhaps the agony served me right, for had I had made him wait.

–

Let me explain that last point, before I go on, because it does carry some little history.

It wasn’t all that long ago that I’d been utterly oblivious to the true extent of Bunny’s attachment to me. Not knowing that he loved me, I had nevertheless chosen to stay in Ham Common for his sake, rather than to follow my suicidal ambition of going to war. I did so out of loyalty to him. 

He had sacrificed his good name, his marriage engagement, all prospects of a normal life, and two hopeless years in prison, and each for my sake. How else was I supposed to pay him back for all that? When I saw how stupendously happy he was to live here with me, I couldn’t leave him. I made a commitment to stay. It was a decisive gesture, one that I had made out of the deepest, purest friendship. 

(I never did figure out why it pleased him to throw in his lot with a black-hearted man like me, but if it was my friendship that meant the most to him, then by Jove, he would have it for as long as he wished.)

It wasn’t the kind of life I would have chosen for myself, certainly, but at least Ham Common wouldn’t bore me to tears, as long as I had my dark trade to occupy me, and as long as Bunny was there—and all to myself, too, into the bargain!

How strange it is, to think about the turns our path took after that! With some prodding, I got Bunny to reveal his secret passion for me. It startled me, to be sure, but I decided that I would give my best friend’s emotions a chance. Romantic love with him was a very new and extraordinary proposition, but I didn’t find it objectionable; on the contrary, the very idea of an intimate relationship with Bunny fascinated me greatly. Thus I gave myself over to him and threw myself into the great unknown of my first and only relationship with a man, not knowing what to expect. 

Then he made me fall in love with him. Actually, I will maintain that I had already loved him, though I didn’t know it then; it was just the physical element that was new to the equation. He stirred in me a hot and dangerous passion that refused to ever go to sleep again. 

The comedic result of that effect on me, ultimately, was that I was now suffering from an intense and impatient longing, the likes of which the oblivious Raffles of old would have been blissfully free of. The situation served me right, considering that Bunny had spent years waiting for me.

I didn’t mention any of this to him, naturally. In his recovery he looked too drowsy, and too sweet, to be bothered about my restless desires. Bunny was more important to me than my passion. I compelled myself to wait, and bide my time.

Now, I fancy, we are up to speed.

–

Some weeks passed us by; pleasant, platonic weeks.

Then, to my surprise, matters came unexpectedly to a grand turn on Christmas Day.

It was very late. We were in shirts and trousers underneath our dressing gowns, had lost all track of time, and had no thought of retiring anytime soon. On a whim, Bunny had thrown a shaggier rug over the thin one that laid in front of our sparkling fire, across the room from our tree. He was stretched out across it on his back, laughing at some joke I had just made, while he held a half-empty glass of port on the floor to his side. We had been discussing an old tale from one of our distant school days. The room was dark and melodramatic, on account of it being illuminated only by the central flame and a few candles here and there that I had lit for the occasion. Bunny’s strength was fairly up this day.

I came over to join Bunny, sinking to the ground and resting my knees on a space of the rug next to him. He stopped laughing, though he absolutely continued to smile, when I gave him a wrapped, cylindrically-shaped piece of confectionary. “A present,” I said.

“You have another present for me?” he teased good-humouredly. We had already exchanged a couple of token gifts earlier in the night: a new pair of coloured spectacles to replace my cracked pair, and a new pair of cycling shoes as an upgrade for his.

“Why, yes, I do. You must be especially lucky tonight.”

His amusement bubbled to the top of his transparent expression. He accepted the gift, and turned it over in a display of curiosity. “Is this a Christmas cracker?”

“Can it be anything else?” I retorted smoothly. Although it’s not true anymore, at this time, the Christmas cracker was a thing given only to one’s sweetheart. It came complete with a short, sentimental love poem and a sugared almond. It wasn’t the light-hearted gag hiding a cheap toy and a paper hat inside that it later became.

Letting go of his glass, he took each end of the sweet’s paper wrapping and pulled. The wrapping exploded harmlessly with a loud pop into two sections that came apart like the ends of a snapped wishbone. Bunny blinked, and then giggled at the simple entertainment.

A very gratified smile rose to my own face.

Eager to investigate the remains of the cracker, Bunny stretched out the piece of paper he found inside, and skimmed over it. His face skewed in distaste at whatever trite message was printed on it. “Want me to read the poem to you, A. J.?” he asked, after he’d finished being displeased by it.

“As enticing an offer as that is, I’m afraid I’ll pass. I prefer not knowing.”

He didn’t blame me. It didn’t matter, anyway. The hackneyed poetry was beside the point. A moment later he had eaten the little candy, and was washing it down with another sip of port.

From where I knelt, I watched the blazing dance of the fire play out on the delicate features of my companion’s fair face. Even in our time before I had learned to love him, I had never missed what an aesthetic sight he made.

Bunny wiped his hand across his lips, which shined of the liquid he had just enjoyed. He returned my gaze. “Thank you for the present,” he said. 

I answered him in a low, thick tone. “You’re welcome.”

We stared at each other for a very short while. I could see in his wondering eyes, the same wonder that was captivating me. It was a simple thing, and yet it struck us both as a cosmic, near-hilarious event that I, A. J. Raffles—masculinity’s champion of his generation—had just given his former school fag a Christmas cracker. That’s a holiday tradition that’s always been done between a man and his lover, not between a chap and his chum. How had it happened that Bunny and I came to fit both descriptions?

“The light of the fire suits you, Bunny,” I murmured.

He was a little embarrassed by that. Not saying a word, he thoughtfully caressed my bent leg with fingers that hardly pressed down.

Suddenly the sharp impatience that had been biding its time in the background of my mind lurched to the forefront. I seized and lifted that set of fingers. Somehow his fingers never managed to acquire the roughness of my own. Bowing myself low to be nearer to him, I kissed the knuckles.

He cupped my cheek in response. To my delight, his light grasp on me urged me closer to him. “Do you,” he asked carefully, “like where this is going? Do you like this?”

“Why, yes, I do,” I replied in a sardonic murmur, “what else have you got?” Before I was aware of the steps that had led to it, our noses were inches apart. He remained prone on the shag while I crawled over him. We were silently testing each other, looking for signs for the other’s approval, until finally we were sure of ourselves. Half-closed lids veiled our eyes, and we hungrily pressed the curves of our mouths together. 

The visceral, sensual taste of him sent my thoughts whirling violently. I pinned his head by its hair to the rug, and lost myself to the animal desire to be as much a part of him as I could make possible. The taste of him was as rich and addictive as the inhale of a cigarette. Over and over, I dipped to have my fill of him, only to come up hungrier than before. He was too beautiful, his scent too familiar, his staggered breaths too deep. 

An erupting heat in my lower body warned me that I ought to consider controlling myself, and to remember his recent illness.

But Bunny certainly wasn’t remembering it. A dizzying rush swamped my brain when I saw Bunny’s legs curl in pleasure beneath me. In some ways, the enjoyment that I could give him with a kiss was even more agreeable to me than my own satisfaction. I felt my hips taken hold of, and held in the air, while he moved his jaw up and down, parting his lips to different degrees to constantly warm and caress my own lips.

Just this, I told myself. Just this easy kiss, and no more, while he wasn’t yet recovered. If Bunny had constitution and desire enough for a kiss, then that was plenty for me. Besides, a kiss as slow and expressive as this one was a gorgeous way to end the holiday’s evening. 

I stroked appreciatively along his ears and his neck; he shivered in response. The little snaps of the fire intermingled with the noise our ruffling sleeves and our shallow breaths. It was a decadent scene fit for a painting.

But then, a bold change came into Bunny. He went a step further. 

He bent one leg under me, and dug his knee sluggishly into my trousers, against the sensitive spot between my thighs.

My lids flew open at the sudden burst of overwrought sensation. The beggar! I broke our continuous kiss with an agonised groan. The feel of that knee carelessly rubbing me was blissful misery. The frustrating glimpse at pleasure that he was giving me made me long insufferably for something that I could not have. “Stop that!” I pleaded with a hiss.

Bunny blinked at me through a dark mist. He was an impossible picture of innocence, what with his guileless expression and the fetching tint of flushed shades that were suffusing his cheeks. It was unbelievable. He honestly had no idea what he was doing to me. “But, why not?” he asked. That high, light voice of his was blown and gone to the cellar.

“Not unless you mean it,” I said, in a rasp that was more controlled. “Your illness—”

“Is over,” he cut me off. “And I do mean it,” he added stubbornly. 

But what, exactly, did he mean? The safe assumption was that he meant that he intended to see to my growing desire, if not necessarily his own. That wasn’t the kind of satisfaction that I was longing with every muscle and fibre for. On the other hand, it was still an immensely appealing offer. The powerful memory of the last time he had swallowed me into his mouth came to me unbidden; my skin tingled, and the budding warmth in my groin grew to a bothersome urgency.

Taking my dumb silence for approval, Bunny pulled me back down to resume our extravagant kiss. Meanwhile, his leg rubbed me below my clothed hips again. That twofold grip of his on my hips went to work, and gyrated me in generous circles against the teasing pressure of his knee.

It was furiously maddening. “Bunny!” I rasped his name at the edge of his lips. I could have easily screamed his name instead. He was so awfully fine and nice to touch. I wanted him terribly. 

“A. J.?” he whispered back.

“You’ll drive me mad if you keep this up!”

Rather than extend any sympathy my way, all I got from Bunny was the grin of a boy who’s found a freshly-mint penny on the floor. My friend took himself out of the intimate lock of our mouths, and surprised me with a half-amazed, half-daring, “Really?”

His pluck impressed me. All the worse for me, because when he impressed me, he excited me. It couldn’t be helped. I know exactly what my unassuming Bunny is capable of, when the right spirit possesses him, and it’s nothing to shake a stick at. “Yes, really!” I groaned, a noise that I did my best to pass off as a sign of irritation, when it was clearly a sigh of desperate want. What the devil was my darling up to?

I saw Bunny take in a deep breath, and steady himself. I fancied I knew why, too: he was fighting against the shaking of his nerves. He never could suppress his nervousness entirely, but (and what I found all the more impressive) could find the bravery to act regardless of his anxieties and fears. It was a very different kind of bravery to my own famous brand of fearlessness. 

(The secret trick of the amateur cracksman, truth be told, is that he owns unshakeable nerves of steel. The cracksman’s partner’s indomitable power, by contrast, is the strength to overcome his own flimsy nerves of glass.)

“Maybe I want to drive you mad,” my little rabbit muttered.

A delicious shudder instantly passed through me. I could only stare at him in total astonishment, and breathe raggedly. Clearly, my treacherous body was no longer mine to control; every part of me was his to dictate and command.

“I think I have another present for you, too, A. J.,” he said slowly, “and it’s not a Christmas cracker. Do you want to know what it is?”

The answer was probably obvious, but not to me. I shook my head like an idiot. “No, what—present?” I failed to speak intelligently.

Bunny swallowed thickly; his nervousness slipped through his tough exterior for the smallest of moments. Yet immediately he mastered his face again. “Then, I’ll show you.” A little excited smile stretched across his boyish face. “Go get the Vaseline,” he stated calmly, with perfect authority.

I reeled back like a fishing rod, my eyebrows shooting up. 

Another moment later, I scrambled up and ran to get the thing. 

Bunny had spoken as if there was only one container of Vaseline in the house. To be accurate, there were two, the first one of which I have often used to grease up and silence our bicycles. Strictly on principle, we used a different container for the purpose that Bunny and I now had mind. This second jar was typically to be found in our medical cabinet, when one of us hadn’t mislaid it; and I was not at all ungrateful to find it there awaiting me when I searched for it.

The tips of my fingers tingled when I took hold of the jar. It’s a bad association that Bunny has given me for the odourless jelly that was once no more than a harmless lubricant for my Beeston Humber. Too many times since have I seen him rub a plentiful amount of the pale stuff between his gentle palms, before taking hold of my lust and stroking at an easy, luxuriant pace until I was helplessly begging him for more. 

With a brisk shake of the head to clear a bit of the muddle, I flew back to the shag rug in front of the fireplace. I must have crossed the distance of the flat in record time.

Bunny was still where I’d left him. His golden-coloured, starkly-defined features shined in the dramatic light of the fire. A new change was that his dressing gown was flung over the closest chair; and, when I saw this, I tossed off my own dressing gown to drape over the same chair. Bunny himself was currently undoing the buttons of his shirt. When I came near, he stopped and smiled prettily at me, as if he were welcoming me back home after a long day’s absence. It was perplexing how glad he was to see me. How’s a man like me supposed to handle that kind of loyalty? His beautiful smile knocked me off my guard all over again.

“Can you help me with this?” he asked quietly, gesturing at the cufflink of his sleeve.

Instantly I crumpled down to the floor and removed both of his cufflinks for him. He shrugged off his shirt, and from behind him I slipped the shirt down his back and off his arms. His warming undershirt came off after it. Then, he turned around, and did the same for me, leaving only the lower half of our clothes on us each. We looked into the depths of each other’s eyes again: always searching, always checking, always trying to discern where the other’s limits were drawn in the moral sand.

“Lie down,” Bunny said. His voice was amazingly steady. A part of me—the small part of me that wasn’t too busy being startled, thrilled, and intrigued by Bunny’s show of assertiveness—was extremely proud of him for managing it.

Admittedly, I had an urge to resist his bidding, for no better reason than to be contrary. Authority and I don’t tend to mix well. It was an out-of-place urge, however, and it couldn’t top either my burning desire or my insistent curiosity. I obediently did as Bunny ordered, and laid down on my back, all while keeping my eyes on everything that Bunny did. Little did I know that I would be lying in that position for some time to come.

The orange-red glow of the crackling fire caressed down Bunny’s neck and reflected off his bare, smooth chest. He didn’t so much as flinch while I watched him undress further. His socks and trousers came off, and he kicked them away. In nothing but his knee-length shorts, he crawled around to me. He sat himself on top of me, giving me a stupendous view of the press of his arousal on his shorts. Each of his nude, silky legs was bent at either of my sides, trapping me in the best way, making me feel strong and large against his smaller body.

My fists clenched around tendrils of shag. Get a hold of yourself, A. J., I told myself; try to think! I still didn’t know what this unusually brave Bunny meant to do with me. He had arranged our forms in an entirely new position. Why was he sitting on me in this fashion, I asked myself stupidly, being the pitiful novice that I was. 

Was he going to flirt with me by rubbing himself against me, while I laid prostrate as he had ordered? That much frustrating pleasure would kill me—an exquisite death, to be sure, but a wicked torture all the same. Yet, shameful as it is, I had to bite back a traitorous moan at the notion. 

Fortunately for my pride and me, Bunny went about a different scheme. He unsealed the jar that I’d brought him, and covered his fingers in the viscous jelly. 

I bit my lip. That was right; I’d already forgotten about the Vaseline that he’d ask for. Instead of clarifying his intentions, this detail perplexed me further. When I tried to imagine what use the jelly could have, my mind drew a blank. Was he about to use the jelly to stroke himself in front of me? It would not be any less of an exquisite death, and a very original one, too, if I were to be made to watch him find his own satisfaction while on top of me. “Bunny?” I finally murmured, in an unnatural, needy sort of stutter, so impatient was I to learn what he was thinking.

Those slicked fingers which were so fascinating to me disappeared behind him. He kept his balance by keeping his other hand on me unyielding waist. “This will only take a minute,” he said. 

My curiosity blew up to new heights. “But what will?”

Bunny smiled softly, and cleverly. He didn’t answer me, at least, not with words. Another second passed, and Bunny’s arm began to move up in down in tiny, yet regular motions. His face grew focused and distracted by his concentration on his unknown task. His eyes fluttered mysteriously.

Even in my ignorance, I was riveted. Clearly, he was doing something extraordinary to himself behind his back. By this time my trousers were tented obscenely, surely giving away my intense interest to the man sitting on top of it.

“I would never have had the courage to do this,” Bunny murmured, through his persistent, clever smile, “without seeing that perfect look on your face, A. J.”

Bits of shag slipped through my frustrated, fisted hands on the rug. “But what—what are you doing?” I pressed. As if I couldn’t guess?

“I’m—” he began, and then reconsidered. His aspect grew dreamy. “I’m remembering a thing I dreamt you told me,” he said, “when the fever was at its worst.”

“What was it?” I implored him. “What did I say to you, in your dream?”

He looked back fondly at the memory. “You said that I needed to have courage. You said that I shouldn’t be afraid. I was afraid, though—until I dreamed your hands were around mine, and I heard your voice telling me that it would be all right. I felt you next to me. I felt you waiting for me, and having faith in me. I realized that you were waiting for me to get better—and you were waiting for me to do this with you, too. That dream was the kick in the rear that I wanted.” He let slip an anxious laugh. “And maybe I am still afraid, to be honest, to take the lead like this—but I don’t care. No, I don’t care a scrap,” his head shook from side to side. “If I can make this good for you, A. J., then these feelings I have, all these worries and fears that I'll do something to horrify you—they're nothing! Not when I know," he raised his voice bravely, "that you're waiting for me—and that you believe in me!"

My daring friend glowed like a demigod in my eyes. “I always did say that you were just the man for me,” I whispered, out of my pride in him. The offhand comment provoked a pretty grin from him. “But what are you doing?” I repeated. Again, I had an intuition of what he was doing, but it was too foreign to my mind. I couldn’t believe it.

Bunny, the villain, batted his dark eyelashes at me. “Well, I could tell you,” he murmured, “or, would you rather have a turn at it yourself?” 

I can’t properly describe the thrilled near-coughing noise that one hand reflexively shot to my lips to smother. I had a good enough intuition to suspect that he was offering something especially indecent. “All—all right,” I eked out. My heart was hammering.

“Let me help you.” Scooting up a little along my abdomen, Bunny took my hand and coated four fingers. He did so gently, and I took advantage of the opportunity to savour the feel of his skin on mine. Once he was finished, he guided my hand to reach around him, low, lower, into his undergarment, to the curves of his bum, then inside his hot, slicked, tight—

I swallowed harshly to wet my suddenly dry throat. Oh.

“Go ahead,” Bunny said, after I was stunned into motionlessness by the realisation of what I was in the process of doing. A little laugh played at the corner of his mouth. My lack of expertise must have been very entertaining for him, yet he didn’t mock me. He was charitably patient. “Move your fingers.”

Mechanically, I did as he directed, and followed the encouragement of his own hand on mine. It was an incredibly strange situation, and yet, it did not feel strange. It felt oddly normal. Initially I was hesitant to enter too many fingers, or to stretch too much, for fear of hurting him. 

“You can do more than that. It doesn’t bother me. Besides, you’ll need to fit in there next,” he added.

I was speechless. The novel feeling of his heat enthralled me; the weight in my trousers grew with my interest. Moreover, there was so much more about this that I wanted to know. Were my fingers inside of him painful to him? Were they pleasant? What did they feel like to him? The experience seemed to be more agreeable to him than not. Trusting him to tell me if I made any mistake, I gradually experimented. I stretched him. The position of his body made it easy for me to push a little deeper—

“Ah,” Bunny moaned distinctly, “right there, but careful.”

My eyebrows rose. Was he talking to me? That touch couldn’t possibly have pleased him as much as his blissful moan suggested. Tentatively, I stroked the same place with my fingers. “You like this?” I breathed.

“Yes, that’s good.” He nodded many times in quick succession. “That’s good. Keep going.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. 

Even while I stretched him, however, I could scarcely believe what I was doing. The extraordinarily personal nature of the activity was staggering. Even though Bunny and I had already found a million other delicious ways to violate the conventional rules of personal space, for him to allow a touch of this remarkably intrusive character, I thought his trust in me must be beyond limitless.

I reasonably ought to have been appalled, or disturbed, but I couldn’t be anything except endlessly entranced and intrigued, while faced with Bunny’s gentle expression of pure trust and appreciation. Whether that was chiefly physical appreciation, or his emotional appreciation that I was willing to go this far with him, I couldn’t say. 

Either way, it didn’t change my sudden private resolve to try to do this for him as often as possible in future.

Somehow, Bunny knew exactly when my job was complete. He stopped me and removed my hand—to my ridiculous dismay. He discarded his underwear, so that he was atop me as naked as a newborn. He also made bare the lust between my legs by dragging both my trousers and my undergarment to rest at the middle of my thighs. That done, he settled back into place above my thighs. “Are you ready for what comes next?” he asked, with legendary calmness. 

“Yes, yes, go on,” I managed to answer. The thrill of the novelty of what was about to happen was second in my chest only to the sheer, restive, unbearable want of him that was consuming me. I longed to be inside him where my fingers had gone before me, to be initiated into the great unknown of the most taboo aspect of Bunny’s love. This was going to be the final proof of my permanent devotion to him and his partnership. It would mark the end of every obstacle that remained to hinder the total completeness of his happiness and mine. I gripped Bunny by his beautifully split legs. “Don’t make me wait, Bunny.”

“I wouldn’t dare do that, A. J.,” he replied, in admirable jest. Using a combination of his legs on the rug and his hands on my chest to leverage his own weight, he split himself wider across the floor, sank his body down, and finally—at long last—impaled himself on me.

“Oh!” I threw my head back and gasped sharply. 

Time stood still, or seemed to. On instinct, though my body was inclined to move, I did not. A vague conviction in my head that Bunny should set the pace for us held me back. The conviction was necessarily vague, because I could hardly think at all. 

Purely out of habit, my senses set to work absorbing and committing to memory every tiny, fascinating detail of the experience. I can remember with ease the coarse smell of the room, the lustrous feel of Bunny’s greased skin matched onto mine, the sweet excitement of being inside of him, and the flash of fear that I was hurting my companion.

Yet Bunny’s position was evidently no hardship to him. In fact, there was a fresh joy and youthfulness come over him. He was also unmoving, at first. He was letting himself grow accustomed to me, I think, but that didn’t take him very long. Sooner than I was prepared for, he lifted himself up, easing off me, until we were barely connected, and then he unhurriedly sank back down on me again, exasperatingly and splendidly, driving all semblance of intellect and self-control from my mind. He rolled his hips slowly, attentively, trying my large frame on like he would a brand new pair of gloves. 

“Oh! Bunny,” I moaned in relief and ecstasy. His devastatingly satisfying warmth was all around me; I could not escape it. I didn’t wish to.

Bunny had been looking at the placement of his hands and knees before, but now he kept his gaze on me face, smiling at me while his soft body continued to ride me.

And what a chump I must have looked! I didn’t try to hide the delightful, overwhelming effect that he was having on me. “Bunny,” I begged, “Bunny, please.”

“A. J.,” he groaned in reply, “you feel so good.” Again and again, he rose, only to fall and take me inside himself again, slowly and deeply. Countless times, he trusted the weight of his body to mine. Noises of gorgeous rapture resonated from his throat.

I yearned to thrust up in time with his rolling hips, but between his legs and the care to not disturb his balance, I was trapped and at his mercy. “More,” I moaned.

He moved along me fluidly, easily, as if my body were expressly built to suit his. His pace, heretofore painfully slow, began to increase by degrees. He adjusted his angle. He sought for me penetrate him more thoroughly at every stroke. It was plain from his gasps and his moans that he loved the feel of me inside him. 

That sight—the breathtaking evidence of my usefulness to him—was princely ambrosia to boil my blood. “Bunny, Bunny, more,” I repeated many times over, loading every syllable of his name with fondness and hunger. My grip on his legs was tight and urging. I longed to keep him where he was, to be ridden by him like a horse for as long as possible.

I’ve heard it claimed that an eternal paradise must necessarily become a hell, in time, on account of the monotony it generates. I might have agreed, until this. An eternity of my dear partner rocking against me, sweating profusely, groping my chest, sandwiching me between his pale thighs while he used me for his pleasure—that was an eternity I could get behind. It was monotonous, true, yet Bunny himself is a monotonous creature, and he doesn’t bore me, either. 

He continued his shocking dance with exquisite gusto. His sparkling eyes, still fixed on me, were increasingly full of a gentle, heart-breaking reverence. His pining face spoke of his disbelief that any of this fantasy that he was currently living could possibly be real. When I saw that disbelief of his, I knew that I had succeeded in doing something special for him. My sweet rabbit. He gave me so much, and asked for so little.

Yes, everything about my innocent Bunny is indeed monotonous, and straightforward; but in him, monotony is a beautiful, soothing quality. Somehow, my restless soul finds him restful. He fills me with an indescribable peacefulness that I never knew before him, and which I find in nothing else—and even now, while I played his strange, wonderful game of love with all my sporting spirit. 

I huffed loudly, in mock outrage, aimed at both of us. “Ah, look at what a sentimental ass you’ve made out of me!” 

Bunny, the dear chap, joined in, and scoffed. He retorted, with sternly-spoken words punctuated by long bounces, “Ha! Look what a—reckless—audacious—ass of a—bloody—sportsman—you’ve turned me—into!”

I moaned indecently at each of his handsome, assertive bounces. I struggled to gather my thoughts, to manage something in the way of a rebuttal that would have certainly proved vain anyway.

Except, suddenly we were both in for a dreadful and very laughable surprise: my hips moved up in a violent jerk against the weight of my beloved, and then, quite without my say-so, I lost it. I came. 

It was too soon! I groaned the second before, “What! No, damn it!”

“Oh God!” Bunny cried in rapture. 

Everything around me spun into a thousand lights. The short burst of euphoria was marvellous. It was a sensation mixed with intense gratification and a dizzying string of emotions and feelings. There was the never-ending sense of friendship I had for Bunny, there was my need to protect and please him, and there was also the rousing, carnal pleasure of knowing that I had just pleased him by emptying myself into him. The elation that washed over me—the pure animal joy of simply being Bunny’s mate—was better than any other feeling in the world.

It was also extremely untimely, and embarrassing. Couldn’t the great A. J. Raffles—masculinity’s champion of his generation—last for five minutes? I swore under my breath at myself, as soon as I was able.

At least, I would be able to partially console myself later that I had earned myself a grand view of Bunny. His spine snapped back sharply into the shape of a straight rod. His eyelids fluttered closed, and his lower lip hung loose. The contented, debauched picture he made held me spellbound, when I was past my high and again able to comprehend my vision at all. 

Bunny languidly opened his glazed eyes. “Oh, A. J.,” he sighed sweetly. “That was…”

“I’m sorry about that,” I hurried to say. “I didn’t mean to. It must have been too long since the last time we—”

“No, no,” he chuckled lightly, “it’s fine. Don’t apologize. It was good. Besides, I’m so glad that you enjoyed yourself.” He beamed a mountain of relief and pride at me. “I’m—I’m very glad. A bit stunned, maybe,” he confessed, “but I’m very glad.”

I didn’t have the heart to argue past that. I patted his knee. “Well, then, thank you for the very excellent Christmas present,” I said. 

He softened. “You’re—You’re welcome.”

“But now,” I shook his knee, “what about you?”

“Oh. I don’t suppose you would you use your hand inside me again?”

The unhesitating eagerness of his request amazed me. Courageousness was definitely a good look on Bunny, in my opinion. In any case, I found it a highly appealing suggestion. “Yes,” I answered speedily, “if you’ll come down here right now, and kiss me.”

He was eager as I was. He lifted himself off of me, and bowed down to marry his nose to mine and lips to mine.

As I returned his kiss, I grabbed his bum with both hands, moving him until I had him right where I want him. I slipped my moist fingers into him, and rubbed him from the inside, until he was moaning into my throat and grinding his precious body against mine. Until now, I had let him lead us; but it seemed to me that my self-restraint had served it turn. His shift was over. It was time for me to indulge.

“You are so very beautiful, so very soft,” I murmured to him, in a sultry and mindless manner, the moment he pulled back his head to catch his breath. “Your kisses, your body, your hair—they are so lovely to touch and behold, like treasured art. I adore everything about you, my kind, sweet rabbit.”

“Come on, A. J.,” he whimpered. 

I exalted in the quiet shudders that passed through him, all of which began at my own fingertips. He was first-class putty in my hands. “You continue to amaze me, Bunny,” I praised him in a whisper. My praise captivated him. “You showed off such pluck tonight. What an impressive character you were! I doubt if I’ve ever seen you more masterful. How frightened you must have been, deep down! But didn’t I try to tell you, while you were suffering from that wretched fever, that there was nothing for you to be afraid of?”

Wet tears welled in his eyes. He staked a great deal of importance by my words. “You telling me not to be afraid—that wasn’t a fever dream?”

“No, it wasn’t a dream,” I said affectionately. “Do you see, now, that you had nothing to fear from me, as I told you? My dear Bunny, it was heavenly to be inside of you, to rock into you.” 

He grew cutely shy at my bold flattery, but always a well-placed nudge of my welcoming smile against his cheek beckoned his beautiful, blushing face back to me. 

“I wished it could have gone forever. Although, it will go on forever, won’t it, Bunny?” I kissed away the few tears that had streaked down his face. “I’ve promised to stay with you here, in our quaint little house in this peaceful little suburb, for as long as you’ll have me. I’m keeping to that promise. So, anytime you wish, I’m rarely more than a hallway’s walk from you. We can pick up right where we left off, whenever you like. I will join you in bed, and undress you, and enter my wet fingers into you to prepare you, as you’ve so patiently taught me…”

He whined sweetly, which struck my ears like the most well-calculated and charming of music. By all appearances, he was very close.

“Then I’ll press you to the sheets, and slide myself into you,” I went on savagely, yet in a deceptively gentle and seductive tone. My greedy fingers plunged to and fro inside him, simulating the memory of penetrating him, reducing him to a few very attractive whimpers. He was entirely in my power. “I’ll bury myself deep into you, taking my time, coming by trial and error to the pace that pleases you best. No matter how much time we take, it’ll never be enough for me. I’ll never stop wanting to fill you full to the brim, to watch you enjoy the feeling of it, to bask in the knowledge that I’m giving you that extra bit of intimacy that you craved from me for so long.”

He couldn’t take anymore. “Oh, God, please… please, I’m almost…”

I carefully extracted my hand from his bum, and cupped him. “Come on, Bunny,” I said, stroking him to completion. “Give it to me.”

A few seconds later, Bunny gasped, and found his release against the pressure of my slicked fingers, making a fetching mess on me and on some of the rug. I fondly pressed my lips to his cheek. I whispered sweet nothings of adoration and admiration to him, while he floated in his ecstasy. I relished each of his little soft cries. His pleasure was virtually my own. 

His pleasant cries eventually died down. When he finally came back to himself, he was sluggish, and splendidly cuddly. He collapsed onto me, and hugged our naked bodies together where we lay. I heard him quietly sigh, “I love you.” His tears of happiness had clogged his voice. “I love you to pieces, A. J.!”

I hugged him in return, his head falling into place in the crook of my neck. His smooth, fair form belonged nowhere but on me and in my arms. “I love you, too, Bunny,” I whispered into his ear. “I’ll be yours, forever. I’ll never leave your side.”

We laid there for a while, wrapped in each other, letting ourselves do nothing but be warmed by each other and by the fire. I stared unseeingly at our forgotten, half-drained glasses of port.

Bunny’s last great secret had met its maker tonight. There was nothing standing between us any longer. For once, my anticipation of our open-ended future energised me. Burglary makes for good enough excitement and sport, and cricket can be a fine fallback when crime isn’t an option, but I had just discovered that the sweet exhilaration of my pretty Bunny’s game was even better than that of crime. He would never cease to fascinate the purest and the least pure parts of me. 

I looked forward to the spring to come, when he and I might stroll around the park together and name the flowers. At the same time, I looked forward to the hour when I would rock my strong hips into his softer set, possibly while I pinned him by his wrists to my bed. I would make up for tonight’s lapse by gratifying him for hours, in my bedroom or his, in the most creative of ways. Ah, what an exciting thing that is to plan for!

Behind Ham Common’s famous shooting star, uncommonly black against the dark night’s sky and speeding away at a bicycle’s speed over empty roads and the crests of hills, there is always a second shooting star of the same type. The leading star, the navigator of the two, was once fast and reckless; but it is not so fast or so reckless nowadays as it once was. 

After a few minutes, Bunny helped me out of the last of the clothes that were hanging on to me. He threw his dressing gown back on and wiped up some of our combined mess with a rag; but I continued to lie in repose, even after Bunny threw my dressing gown pointedly over my stomach.

He knelt by me, and asked, “You’re not going to fall asleep there, are you?”

“Dear me!” I exclaimed dramatically. “I shouldn’t wish to. Christmas isn’t over yet. The evening’s still young.”

“But you aren’t moving from there.”

“Why should I move?” I replied flippantly. “I’m only waiting. I have unfinished business here. In half an hour or so, I am going to see if I can’t get you to have another go with me. You won’t catch me letting you off early a second time, let me tell you!”

Bunny laughed a dazzlingly joyous laugh. It was so positively adorable that I couldn’t resist pulling him to me for another soft embrace, and keeping him with me. For well over half an hour, I refused to let him go again.

End.


End file.
